


Good With a Bow

by lellabeth



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkward Declarations, Phil is just the best, Tumblr Prompt, boys who are bad at feelings, have you ever heard of actually talking? i didn't think so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:10:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lellabeth/pseuds/lellabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s just like, I’ve spent my whole life trying to be better, right? And I thought maybe getting with SHIELD would solve that problem, that it would make me into someone new. And it has, in a way, but it’s like I’m still not good enough. Not for him.”</p><p>Natasha stares at him for a minute, her face impassive. It’s the little tells that give her away, though, the tightening at the corners of her eyes that let him know she’s weighing up something in her mind.</p><p>“You’re in love with him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good With a Bow

**Author's Note:**

> posted on tumblr in response to an anon prompt, posted here because I'm trying (/failing) to keep a more organised archive of my fic.

“Clint.”

He turns to face Natasha.

“You’re the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had or wanted,” she tells him, face solemn. “You’re the first person I ever trusted, and I’ll never be able to repay the debt I owe you for giving me a chance at something more.”

“Tasha…”

“That being said, if you don’t stop looking at Coulson like you’re star crossed lovers kept apart by fate, I’m going to kill you with these mozzarella sticks.”

Clint rolls his eyes. 

“No, seriously. This is the most pathetic I’ve seen you be, and I watched you trying to hold your own insides together back in Belgrade.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Clint, after your last concussion you spent the entire night tapping out Phil’s name in morse code.”

Clint winces, because yeah, okay. He watches the other man leaning against the bar, the carefully structured facade that hides the softness beneath. Sometimes it feels like his heartbeat is in time with those dots and dashes, like every thud makes him think of Phil. Sometimes he regrets reading so many shitty romance books.

Natasha’s knee nudges his under the table, pressing tight against his thigh. 

“It’s just like, I’ve spent my whole life trying to be better, right? And I thought maybe getting with SHIELD would solve that problem, that it would make me into someone new. And it has, in a way, but it’s like I’m still not good enough. Not for him.”

Natasha stares at him for a minute, her face impassive. It’s the little tells that give her away, though, the tightening at the corners of her eyes that let him know she’s weighing up something in her mind.

“You’re in love with him.”

Clint snorts. “I feel like I’ve never  _not_  been in love with him.”

Natasha’s knee presses harder against his own. “ _Mily_ , you have to tell him.”

“What would I say, Tash? Sorry I’m such a fucking mess, Phil, but I kinda love you? Sorry that all I ever am is a screw up, but I’d really like the chance to be better with you?”

“Yes,” he hears Phil say, and his stomach goes into freefall.

He stares at Natasha, eyes burning.

“I didn’t know, Clint. I swear.”

He looks away. 

She touches his shoulder once on her way past, and then she’s gone.

Phil’s drink being placed on the table sounds like a slam. Everything is racing and a thousand times too loud. His skin is cold but he’s warm all over, too warm–

And then there is a hand exerting pressure against the back of his neck, thumb digging into a hard knot of muscle.

“You’re okay.”

Clint breathes, feels the touch of Phil’s skin against his and tries not to shiver.

“So,” Phil says, not moving his hand. “I think you have something to ask me.”

Clint licks his lips. He’s taken a lot of leaps in his life - off tall buildings, into trouble. None have ever felt this risky. 

“I hadn’t ever loved anyone until I met you,” he starts, feeling Phil’s hand tighten. “I thought I had - anyone that showed me affection or some attention for long enough, and I was half-convinced I was in love with them even when they were knocking me around. I’ve never been on a date before, not really. I’m not the type of guy people thinking of as being worth something like that. I don’t dress fancy enough for restaurants and I’m too dumb to meet the friends, and I’m kind of awkward at the best of times. People figure I’m just an asshole, and I can be, but that’s not me. Not really. I’m just… scared. Of trying and failing, of being open to anything that might hurt me.”

He closes his eyes. “You changed my life, you know? You came in and you were all sorts of perfect, and I’m just, just  _me_ , just trying to get through one day and onto the next without ruining everything as usual. And I don’t have a lot to offer, Phil - I won’t ever understand some of the shit you talk about and I’ll never be the type of man you’re proud to have on your arm, but I’m yours, if you want me. I’ll always be yours. So I guess I’m saying I want to do the date thing. It’ll probably be something shitty like going to a range or something somewhere, but I’ll do it. For you, I’ll do anything.”

Clint’s heart is racing. He just spilled his guts across the sticky fake-wood floor of this place, just laid himself bare and told Phil to choose him if he has low expectations and wants to date a human crapsack.

“You’re the cellist.”

Phil word’s are soft and the country music playing overhead is loud, so it takes a second for Clint to register what Phil’s just said. He spins around as soon as it does.

“What?”

Phil smiles, a little nervous, maybe wistful. “That mission in Portland. I fell in love with you when you bought two dozen donuts to the hospital because you weren’t sure which I’d like best.”

“I don’t play any instrument.”

“The bow.”

Clint blinks and tries to let that sink in, and then he is laughing so hard his stomach hurts. “Phil Coulson, you giant  _dork.”_

Phil huffs. “It was romantic, okay?”

It takes a few minutes for Clint to calm down, his amusement overwhelmed by the spark in his stomach at seeing the pink tips of Phil’s ears.

“So,” he says quietly. “Now that I’ve promised you the worst time of your life if you date me, what do you say?”

“Barton, it would be my pleasure.”


End file.
